The Harry Potter Mental Institution
by XxRaindr0pxX
Summary: "The mental institution is not a happy place. It consists of madness and insanity, residing in it's space." - Quote, from the Harry Potter Mental Institution. Where the characters that have spiraled out of control live, join in on their daily lives and read their tragic stories.
1. Introduction

**The Harry Potter Mental Institution**

"_The mental institution is not a happy place._

_It consists of madness and insanity._

_Residing in its space."_

**Author's Note:** Welcome, dear readers who have stumbled upon this fanfiction, it is about, a Mental Institution where the troubled or insane Harry Potter characters go. It takes place during any spot on the timeline throughout the whole wizarding world, the Mental Institution takes care of all troubled or insane characters, it provides an abundance of rooms, all padded and secured, nurses and helpers run the institution alone, they feed, wash and clean all the patients except the ones that are capable of doing it themselves – which are seldom known.

In this fanfiction, you can read about the character's cases, and dive into a short extract of what they do in the mental institution. So, pick a chapter (you don't have to read the chapters of this fanfiction in order to understand what goes on btw) and get started!

Happy reading!


	2. Gilderoy's Case

**The Harry Potter Mental Institution**

"_The mental institution is not a happy place._

_It consists of madness and insanity._

_Residing in its space."_

Chapter 1: Gilderoy's Case.

He sits at the mirror, all day long, when day switches to night, his reflection is gone. The mirror, as old and frequently used as it was, remained still in good condition. It's glass stained with fingerprints, from the desperate attempts to escape, by an old mad man.

Every day, he'd sit on his stool, in front of the glass. His eyes, they linger, upon his face. The handsome deep blue eyes, were they really that blue? Could they be bluer? The eyebrows, perfectly matched, or were they? He takes in his outline, all straight and robust, the plush plum lips, protruding from his mouth, the handsome gold and copper waves of hair, he treasured most of all.

It all starts of well. Compliments are made, pleasant thoughts arise, and he takes great care to thank himself, for these manly words of praise. Then the errors come erupting, the mistakes are made to appear, they seem to cloud his reflection, until there's hardly anything there. Only a once handsome face, a lonely linger of a smile, the once blue eyes, replaced by a dreadful dull grey. Spots seem to cloud his vision, but yet he can perfectly see, the things outside the mirror. Wrinkled lines appear, his skin shrivels and prunes, the once lush lips, shrink within his gaze. His reflection starts to deteriorate, maggots eat him alive. His hands, they clutch his hair, in worrying desperation.

He wipes the mirror, with a sweaty plam, he wipes it heaps, hence it's finger print stained surface. Til the ugliness no longer stays, when he removes his hand, he releases a breath of silence. The reflection is still there, as good as new. He sits back down, and watches with glee. The wonderful brows, the smooth cherry lips, his lovely face, and pleasantries are exchanged. He tells himself he looks handsome, he tells himself he's worth it, he tells himself the only reason his mother screamed at him, was merely because of mistake. He tells himself he's strong as he could be, he tells himself he's got handsome rippling muscles, he tells himself the only reason why his father hit him and called him weak, was because he mistakened him for someone else He tells himself he's perfect. He tells himself he loves himself, like no other had ever done. He tells himself flaws don't deserve to be loved, he tells himself he has none.

Alas the spots appear again, they ridicule his sanity. Not that he has much.

He screams in pure agony, to see his godlike face disturbed, he smacks fist upon glass. Leans upon the mirror in shame, silent cries of help, muffled by his pride. He wipes the mirror, wipes it with passion. And lip trembling, starts it all again.

~A story of Gilderoy Lockhart~

~The Nobody Obsessed with his Self-Worth~


	3. Severus' Case

**The Harry Potter Mental Institution**

"_The mental institution is not a happy place._

_It consists of madness and insanity._

_Residing in its space."_

Chapter 2: Severus' Case

He does not belong here. He is not destined, to spend his life, in a mental institution. His stay is only temporary, because sometimes, just sometimes, he feels a little mad. Ear-splitting, teeth grinding, hand clenching mad.

He walks along the narrow room, in which he is to stay. The walls are padded, the floor is carpet, the only window is high up in the ceiling, sticking one metre outwards with mental bars to stop the patient from escaping. An invisible shield is placed on the window, just in case, the patient feels the need to repeatedly bash themselves upon the dull grey metal bars. Which he does not, he pays little interest in his surroundings. Apart from the little patch of carpet, in which his face is directed at, but his gaze is looking far beyond it.

His mind is spinning, the cogs are grinding, and the agony is rising. Why? He asks himself, repeatedly, the single word echoing round and round his brain. Why? Why did he always have to stuff up every mission he gets? Why did that – that – that insolent little offspring of James _Potter_ always have to get the better of him? Why did Albus pay little attention to the boy's obnoxious habits, and his major rule breaking? But yet he strove to criticize Severus in every way possible.

The words, not good enough sprang to mind. He clutched at the walls, it was a queer sight for anyone to witness if they just happened to peep in room number 4 in the mental institution. A fully grown man with greasy black hair leaned against the wall, cross-eyed, slumped, hands clenched and lips moving silently. He kicked the air, imaging that there was Dumbledore, he imagined the old man's groans, he imagined the old man's pleading, and he took pleasure in that. Just as Dumbledore took pleasure in his own pain.

Severus stopped after a while, worn out, tired, exhausted, he slumped to the floor, and focused on the carpet. Though once again, his gaze bore through. Why? The word repeated itself once more, but this time, it was accompanied with remorse. Why did he imagine himself maiming none other, then Albus Dumbledore? Why did he want to harm the only man who accepted him?

Severus took a ragged breath, he clutched at his robes, half wishing he had this wand with him so he could jinx something, but it had been taken away shortly before they placed him in the institution. His hands traced patterns on the ground, they shook and trembled. He imagined Albus, giving him a word of praise, just one. Perhaps a mere 'thank you', or a simple pat on the shoulder. Then he realized that the shape he had been tracing on the carpet, was indeed a heart. He spat at it, feeling as if it was teasing him, before walking off to find another patch of carpet to stare at.

The day drew long, the shadows of the bars across the windows swiftly rotated, as the sun climbed the sky, and then started to descend. Just as the first evening stars were visible, but the glowing ball of orange had not yet vanished beneath the horizon, a knock came at the door. Severus looked up, mentally calculating who would come here to see him at this time of day, it could not be the maids, for they never cleaned the room when a patient was within, and it could not be the nurses, coming to bring him food, seeing as lunch had long passed and it was still a while to go before dinner. Even without his estimations, Severus knew who was there, he could not mistaken the tall silhouette standing just outside the door, with its lean but strong frame, and long beard.

"Albus?" He muttered, bemused, wondering why his headmaster, his colleague and his friend had come to see him, and wondering what business had to be done.

The door opened shortly, and in walked Albus Dumbledore, his beard trailing behind him, he wore a pair of purple robes, with a gold coloured pattern embedded in the hem, and a matching wizard's hat of the same colours. A short plump nurse almost half his height accompanied him, she bowed and spoke in a shrill voice with an accent, " 'e's 'ere Sir Dumbdore, 'e's been beh'ving somewhat well lately, but 'erhaps you 'hould like a hitwizard* to accompany you within, 'ust in case 'e's up to som'thin'."

"No thank you Madam Pooch, I'm sure I can handle him." Replied Albus, to which the nurse bowed and praised him for his courage, before scuttling away, muttering something incoherent to Severus' ears, but he was sure it was had something to do with his mental welfare.

"Severus?" Albus acknowledged the moment the nurse left, his quivering blue eyes travelled up to Severus' face.

Severus stared at the ground, reluctant to face Albus' questioning glance. "I swear that nurse hates me." He muttered, "She thinks I'm a processed baboon or something of equal distaste."

To his surprise, Albus merely chuckled at his comment, "And what have you done to encourage that belief?" He asked.

Suddenly shame filled Severus, and the pit of his throat burned like he had just downed a large glass of firewhisky, he felt something he'd rarely felt before in life prick his eyes. But in the blink of an eye, it was gone, "How should I know? I'm not her, I don't know what she considers as insanity. Nor what I've done that may suggest I'm insane." He replied stonily.

"Well, did you dance around demanding a bottle of brandy?" Albus asked.

Instantly Severus felt the back of his neck prick up in rising heat, "No." He answered reluctantly, "And I wasn't _dancing_. I don't dance."

"Ah, good. Improvement from last time."

Severus raised his glowering brown eyes, and he stared at Albus with a murderous look, as if daring him to bring _that_ up again. Quickly Albus changed the subject, "So, Severus. You do know that you have just spent three days in the mental institution, am I right?"

Severus made a non-committal noise from his throat, which Albus took as a 'yes' for he proceeded, "And you were very angry before your stay here? You proceeded to curse the stuffing out of a couch in the teacher's staffroom?"

Severus' lips moved as he muttered, "Well, yes. It wasn't a new couch anyway, it was old enough as it was. I daresay that it would've probably broken before the end of this year."

"Hm. That behaviour is not acceptable at Hogwarts Severus." Albus stated, his eyes boring into Severus' own, his tone perfectly clear, "You know it, and I know it. I do not tolerate this sort of actions from my teachers, imagine what would have happened if you happened to lose it in a classroom, would the students safety be in question? Yes."

Once again, the thick hot anger arose, and Severus said in more of a groan, "That's exactly what drove me to my anger! The students! They are allowed to do anything they please Albus, there's no rules for them. Like that _Potter_, how come he can strut around with a werewolf and an animagi, and a criminal on the loose! You don't even care what happens to them! I followed them Albus, on your orders to keep Harry save, I followed them into their little blasted hideout, and what do I get? Disarmed and head concussion, and you expect me to accept their actions once I've recovered well enough? You expect me to welcome a bully, an outlaw and that – that, pathetic little toerag who's Peter with open arms? What's my reward, what's my purpose Albus?" Severus' eyes had reduced to little slits now, as he stared at his previous headmaster and his colleague at present. Albus took a deep breath in, he seemed to consider things, then he said in a light tone, as if talking about the weather, "I see your point Severus, these people have done things that were mean and unjust to you in the past. But can't you see they're suffering? Sirius was wrongly accused and sentenced to twelve years in prison, now that he's finally escaped he has all the authorities searching for him-" Severus snorted loudly at this, but Albus chose to ignore that as he continued, "Lupin was never a bully to you Severus, he was only ever a backup to James and Sirius pranks, he didn't have that mean streak inside him, and look at him now? Forced to transform into a werewolf every full moon, and Peter…" Albus trailed away.

Severus sneered, "Run out of excuses are you?" He snarled.

Albus took a deep breath, "No, that's besides the case. Anyway, since you so accidentally let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf, he will not be teaching here next year. So you don't have to put up with him, Peter has ran away, and Sirius will not be residing near Hogwarts anymore next year. You don't have to put up with them anymore, so please pull yourself together and control yourself! Otherwise I'll have no choice but to sack you!" Albus' voice trembled as he said it, and Severus stared out at the gap between the bars in his window. Drinking all of it in, finally he said, with an odd calmness that mirrored satisfaction, "Very well Albus, but what do I get if I do keep my temper under control?"

Albus smiled, "Sherbet lemon?" He suggested.

Severus looked up at him, as if to ask if he was serious, then, miraculously, he did something that he hadn't remembered doing in ages. His lips spread into a funny sort of smile, like something in between a sneer and a smile, but the emotions behind it were definitely genuine happiness. Then he replied, "I don't mind if I do."

-Fin-

A/N: YAY! I finally finished this chapter! Um, thanks to SpencerReid for reviewing and for the suggestion, which he explained to me via PM! I hope I did a good job portraying your idea SpencerReid, and to all of you other readers: thanks for reading this, hope you enjoyed it, review?

* Also, a hit wizard was briefly mentioned in one of the later HP books, I forgot which one. But they're basically like Arours, except they don't use magic, they only use their body and physical contact. So they are kind of like a wizard version of a security guard, just thought to explain this in case anyone forgets.


	4. Arianna's Case

**The Harry Potter Mental Institution**

"_The mental institution is not a happy place._

_It consists of madness and insanity._

_Residing in its space."_

Chapter 3: Arianna's Case

She sits, she eats, she sleeps upon the floor. Her dreams are filled with zaniness, with zest beyond most people's imagination, they bring a spark, a happy glow, as her lips stretch into a smile. But not all dreams are happy. Sometimes she has nightmares, repressed memories spring up. She squeezes her eyes in agony, she moans and groans in terrified tones. She doesn't know that these dreams were once real.

Daybreak dawns, sunlight streams through the little windows, of her dainty little room. It's a nice spacious one, with soft padded walls, a warm fluffy rug, a table and a chair. The window is framed, with a thick orange curtain, with butterflies dappled on the opaque orange fabric. Arianna sits up, she rubs her eyes, against the incoming light. Her arms are tingling, and her hands are numb. She clutches her thin pallid arms, her thumbs rotate in small circles, as she tries to warm herself up. She knows this will work. It has to work. It worked the last time her brother was here. When he wrapped his cloak around her, and propped her against the wall, his warm body right beside hers, as his voice spun webs of story from a book.

The maid comes in, she opens up the door, another gust of wind blows in, Arianna whimpers. Her hands rub faster, it's not working. It's not working, a little voice says inside her head. She squeezes her eyes and tries to block out the cold, it has to work. It has to work. It has to work. _Please, make it work._

There is a clink somewhere in front of her, and some soft muffled footsteps across the carpet, Arianna can feel someone's gaze upon her, even with her eyes closed, she can feel their gaze boring into the depth of her soul. Was it the monster? She whimpered and buried her head upon her freezing cold arms. "Arianna? Miss Arianna?" Says a voice, so suddenly out of the dark, Arianna screamed. Fright upon her, she lashed out and kicked, her foot smacked into something hard, she knows the devil is out to get her. She knows she angered the person, she cries as she images what punishment is out to get her. She leans sideways and covers her eyes with her fingers, perhaps, she thought, if she couldn't see them, they wouldn't see her.

Suddenly two cold fingertips brush against her skin, and the same voice comes again, "Miss Arianna are you-"

"NO! NO! GO AWAY!" Arianna screams, she lashes out again, in hope of sending the evil spirit away, she hates the feeling of the cold livid fingers, uninvited, upon her skin. She hates it so much, that the next second she feels adrenalin pump out of her body, and she hears a spark, a crackle, and her arms are warm. The devil is gone.

Her eyes are open, the room is bright, sunlight trickling into all four corners. She keeps her gaze level, to the pretty pink and yellow butterflies on her curtains, and murmurs soothing words. But they can't block out the angered screeches. The raging nurse, whose body was covered in flames. They can't block out, the suffocating stench, of the sizzling smoke. Nor the alarmed cries of the other workers.

Arianna closes her eyes, and squeezes them tight. Disappointment and anger spiralling through her body. She has done it again. After she promised she wouldn't. It happened, again. The magic simply escaped her body. Why_?_ A feeble voice cries. _Can't I control that damn blasted thing?!_ Her arms flail out, her legs kick nothing but air, as she whines in frustration.

Magic has gotton the better of her.

Yet Again.

Author's Note: Meh? How was that?

I suffered a long dose of writer's block, so it's been a while since I updated this…


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